


Prologue: First Woman In Valhalla

by Mrs_Eddie



Category: Original Work, Viking era - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Romance, Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Eddie/pseuds/Mrs_Eddie





	Prologue: First Woman In Valhalla

**First Woman In Valhalla**

_She knew that she would always be a picture of her family’s shame. There was no way around it. Dyrfinna Andersdottir was the eldest child of her family of all girls. No sons. Just girls._

* * * * *

_Thor approached Odin somewhat cautiously, clutching the now amulet-sized Mjolnir in his hand. This had to work. The girl needed help. Thor cleared his throat loudly. “Father,” he said, catching Odin’s attention_

_“What is it, my son?” Odin asked._

_“The girl,” Thor replied. “She needs help.”_

_“How do you say?” Odin asked, looking somewhat unconcerned. “Help her in what way?”_

_“She cannot redeem her family on her own,” Thor insisted._

_“Redemption,” Odin mused. “Perhaps we can...” He gazed at his son thoughtfully. “Do you ever wonder, my son, if you love the humans too much?”_

_“No,” Thor replied steadily. “If I don’t, who will?”_

* * * * *

Chapter 1 : A Plan

Dyrfinna Andersdottir, the eldest daughter of a typical Viking family, combed her mousy hair hastily and helped her sisters get ready for dinner. She was one of ten plain-looking girls. Her mother and father had tried and tried to have one son. Just one. Anders Jatvirsson had died without a single son to his name. And Dyrfinna was constantly reminded of this.

Dyrfinna was about the plainest-looking girl one could imagine: she had mousy brown hair that was not straight enough to be sleek and shiny, but not curly enough to be luxurious. It had just enough texture to be, in Dyrfinna’s opinion, ugly and unmanageable. Her face was very plain, and she had the body of a twelve-year-old girl, despite being eighteen. No men ever came calling for her, which was why she was in an arranged engagement for her marriage. All of her sisters were just as plain-looking as she was; her mother was ashamed to admit that she had borne her husband no sons.

“Dyrfinna, you know if someone summons warriors, we will be viewed as cursed,” her mother would occasionally say. Or, “We must have angered Thor, he has not given us a son.”

“Dyrfie, why can’t you put my hair out of my face?” six-year-old Kjierstin whined.

“Just do it yourself, I’m not going to be here once I get married,” Dyrfinna sighed for nearly the millionth time. “You need to learn.”

“But I want you to!”

Dyrfinna sighed loudly. “Talk to Mama about it,” she snapped. “Maybe she can help you.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. She left her sister and began to prepare for dinner. The sun was just peeking over the jagged horizon, almost gone. Dyrfinna suddenly thought of the shimmering fjords, wishing she could watch the sun set without Gunthor, the man she was arranged to marry. He was dark and handsome, but somewhat lazy and demanding. Gunthor was also nearly twenty years older than her, which bothered her greatly. She could not understand why her mother found her opposition so surprising. But her mother had been friends with Gunthor and his family for years and desired to tie their families more closely together. As she brought out bowls, her mother breezed into the largest portion of their typical one-room longhouse.

“Oh, good, you’re ahead,” she commented. “Gunthor is coming shortly. His mother just told me this afternoon.”

“I told you, Mama, I don’t want to marry Gunthor,” Dyrfinna sighed. “He is lazy, arrogant, and doesn’t want anything real from me. And he is old enough to be my father.” Dyrfinna said the last bit with a tone of disgust.

“How could you say something so dishonorable?” her mother asked indignantly. “It is for the best that you are marrying him. He will be a good father for your children, and a good husband for you.”

Dyrfinna sniffed. “You wouldn’t understand. You do not know him the way I do. He is spoiled, arrogant, and does not care for me the way I want him to.”

“He will be a good man for you,” her mother insisted. “You have accepted the marriage, and the date is set. You need to cheer up, and prepare yourself. He is coming to spend the evening with you. Your sisters can help me.”

Dyrfinna sighed again. She had only accepted the marriage to avoid bringing dishonor to her family. “I don’t love him,” she said quietly.

“Love will come as you two live together and have children,” her mother assured her. “Despite common foolishness’s telling, love is not the only thing that matters in a marriage. Children are the most important things in marriage.”

“But did you love Father when you married him?” Dyrfinna inquired.

“Love grew,” her mother replied simply. “Oh, there comes Gunthor now. Be a good girl and welcome him into our home.”

Dyrfinna turned to leave, smirking.

“And smile,” her mother added.

Putting on the most realistic false smile she could, Dyrfinna reluctantly answered the door, where her fiance was waiting for her. He smiled warmly.

“Dyrfinna, my love,” he murmured in his usual low voice. His midnight hair was pulled back at his neck, and his beard was gathered elaborately down his front. Despite his personality flaws, he was one of the most handsome men Dyrfinna had ever met.

“Gunthor,” she said, trying to pretend that she wanted him here. “How nice to see you today.” Obviously he could see right through her false welcome. Although he continued to smile warmly, his expression darkened slightly.

“Why don’t you come in?” Dyrfinna offered. It took every ounce of effort she could muster to be warm and welcoming.

Gunthor followed her into the house. Dyrfinna couldn’t help noticing that he was eyeing their every possession and scrutinizing her sisters. This only built on her distrust toward him. Trying to ignore this, she offered him a seat. “I should be the one offering you a seat,” he pointed out. “It is my house,” Dyrfinna replied. “But you are the lady,” Gunthor insisted. He gestured for her to be seated. Dyrfinna sat reluctantly, then he seated himself next to her. Dyrfinna knew that he was only trying to impress her mother.

Dyrfinna endured what seemed to be an hour-long feast. It only took her a few minutes to consume what took an hour for her fiance to consume. All he wanted to do was speak eloquently in front of her mother. What a showoff, she thought to herself. She knew that he would have no interest in her as soon as they were married and she had no way out.

Gunthor rose. “Come,” he said gently.

Dyrfinna, her heart aching with hopelessness, got up, accepted the arm he offered, and allowed him to lead her out of the house. He continued until they were at the edge of the nearby fjord, which was sparkling with red evening sunlight.

“You know that I await the day we marry,” he murmured. “Surely you feel the excitement in your own heart.”

Should she lie? Or should she tell the truth? “I hardly look forward to being a mother,” she confessed.

“Don’t worry,” Gunthor assured her. “When we have a little son, you will forget all about it.”

“I don’t want to marry you, Gunthor,” Dyrfinna suddenly blurted out, not knowing why she said it.

Gunthor’s expression darkened. “I could tell by the way you led me into your home,” he said. “Why do you not want to marry me? I paid a large sum for the right to marry you, I have money and possessions, and I am from a family of sons, unlike you. You are gaining everything by accepting me as your husband.”

Dyrfinna looked into his sharp gray eyes. She saw no love. All she saw was lust. “You do not love me,” she murmured. “And, in case you haven’t noticed, you are old enough to be my father.”

“I do love you, and very much so,” he said, his voice almost turning defensive.

“I look into your eyes, and see nothing,” Dyrfinna snapped. “You just want a young girl to bear sons for you. You do not want a companion.”

“How dare you say such a thing?!” Gunthor snapped. “I love you. How could you ‘look into my eyes’ and see into my heart?”

“You wear your heart on the sleeve of your tunic, Gunthor,” Dyrfinna shot at him, tugging her arm away. “I can see it all.” She dashed away, hating that she had to marry this man. She would die inside if she actually married him.

* * * * *

Having escaped from her controlling fiance, Dyrfinna hurried to the village center; she couldn’t go back right away. As usual, there were the men everywhere, trading and talking and occasionally fighting. She noticed a small group of more heavily dressed ones, probably traders. They were talking, but in a much more serious manner than the other men. Moving closer, Dyrfinna could hear what they were saying.

“We’ve got to recruit a few more before it’s worthwhile,” one said.

“A few boys ought to do it,” another commented. “We need some younger strength.”

“Keep an eye out,” the first one instructed. “If you see some worthy boys this evening, tell ’em that Odin calls.”

Dyrfinna cleared her throat loudly. All three of them there jumped; they hadn’t seen her. “What do you want?” one of the bigger ones asked harshly. “And what are you doing out and about, girl?”

“Just... I don’t know,” she admitted. “I... happened to hear that you are looking for boys for... I’m assuming a mission. I... have a friend who would perhaps be interested, if you need him.”

The man stroked his beard. “Perhaps we could use your friend,” he said gruffly. “Them madmen that tried to force us to change our ways some time ago are back, and we’re after them. We’re leaving before daybreak in two days. We still need a few more. Send your friend here.”

“I shall,” Dyrfinna promised. After a moment of awkward silence, she bid the men good-bye (which she suspected they disregarded) and wandered slowly off, wondering why she had just done what she had.


End file.
